


The Lil' Miss Veronica

by vextant



Series: Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, It's an AU so whatever canon you take it from is yours my dudes, Major Character Injury, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 08:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14256843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vextant/pseuds/vextant
Summary: May 1933. Hope van Dyne was going to be the first woman to fly nonstop across the Pacific Ocean - until it all went wrong.





	The Lil' Miss Veronica

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stars_inthe_sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/gifts).



> Prompt was: Bobbi & Hope because SCIENCE and also ASSKICKING
> 
> I . . . kind of covered it? I've been playing too much Tomb Raider, but that's only kind of sort of related to where I went with this.

**_Somewhere in the South Pacific, May 1933_ **

There was leather cracking between Hope’s teeth as she bit down, the resistance only a small comfort as she braced against the pain. Tears in her eyes, her leg was  _ burning _ , the smell of charred flesh filled her nose, she could  _ taste _ it in her  _ mouth _ , and she gripped Bobbi’s shoulder so tight that her nails dug in. Her broken right arm lays prone across her lap, already splinted but mostly useless.

“Almost there, princess, you’re okay,” Bobbi says calmly, her usual snark absent as she presses the heated knife back against the wound in her thigh.

Hope throws back her head and  _ screams _ . It’s only slightly muffled by the belt.

“There you go, just let it out, I’m almost finished. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

Bobbi pulls the knife back and Hope tries to nail her with a glare, but she’s weak and her vision is woozy and it’s getting dark. The sun’s dipping into the ocean on the horizon.

There’s been no radio contact for three hours. They’ve only been grounded for one.

A hundred meters away, the charred remains of the Lil’ Miss Veronica - a two-seater plane, top of the line until she caught fire and they had to crash-land - are sinking into the shoreline. The metal beast is still smoldering, the flames long doused by seawater.

Hope feels heavy and lax all of a sudden, the belt slipping out from between her teeth. A string of saliva dangles from her lips. She tries to lick it away.   
  
“Stay with me there, princess.” Bobbi’s patting her cheek, soft and then harder. Hope’s eyes flutter back open and she grunts.

“M’fine.”

“Right,” says Bobbi, “I’m gonna bind it now. You want your belt again?”

Hope shakes her head and draws a sharp breath between her teeth, “Just do it.”

Between the break in her calf and searing shut the gash on her thigh, she can barely feel her right leg at all. She watches in macabre fascination as Bobbi navigates around the splint to wrap her upper leg. It’s only the pressure of the bandage being wrapped that makes her hiss.

“Thanks,” she says, and her voice is gaining steadiness so she adds, “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine.” Bobbi spits it out, a little tense. It doesn’t look like there’s much blood, thank God, but Hope can see the bruising turning dark on the right side of her face. There’s a blood vessel burst in Bobbi’s right eye that she didn’t notice before. 

Normally, she’d leave the posturing alone, but it’s only them now, and they have no idea if help’s coming. Or if help even knows they’re in trouble.

“Bobbi.” 

“It’s . . a little hard to see. Fuzzy, on this side.” Bobbi waves her hand on her right, wincing because her upper arm is a singular bruise on that side as well, “Ear’s’re ringing.”

She takes a seat next to Hope, against the thick trunk of a fallen tree. They sit together in silence for a minute, watching the sky and sea darken and listening to the flames of Bobbi’s little fire crackle and pop. Hope stares into it and tries not to remember, but the memory comes unbidden and suddenly she’s back in Lil’ Miss’ pilot’s seat when the right turbine started to stutter.

Lil' Miss was built for speed, not durability. The fire spread quickly, Bobbi trying her best to douse it with a blanket, but it was useless. This little island where they now found themselves stranded hadn’t been on any of the maps. Too small, probably. It’s little more than a sandbar, maybe five miles square, the dense forest in the middle the only reason that she can’t see shore to shore.

“I want to thank you,” Bobbi says softly, like she’s working up the courage. Hope’s never known her to be anything but courageous, even if it’s mostly in the guise of recklessness, but here she is stranded with her employer farther away from home than she’s ever been before, “Thanks for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome,” says Hope without thinking. She means it. The crash had knocked Bobbi unconscious, and she hadn’t for a second thought about leaving her there to burn alive, no matter how badly they’ve gotten on in the past, “I’m gonna need a navigator again. Get the hell out of here.”

That makes Bobbi crack a smile. “Yeah.”

The stars are coming out, so bright and clear that they’re reflected in the waves below. It’s getting harder to tell where the horizon is. The first night after they’d taken off, the way that the sky and sea blended together into inky blackness had almost scared Hope. She’d been warned about it; Amelia had told her, about how flying over open ocean makes you really think about your place in the world. How small it is, compared to all that water.

It’d done nothing but steel her resolve. Hope van Dyne would be the first woman to fly across the Pacific. She was more than a socialite, more than just her father’s daughter. She’d wanted to have an accomplishment of her very own.

Bobbi Morse was an Air Force reject, too loudmouthed and opinionated to be a woman in government work. She was an accomplished pilot in her own right, flying private cargo planes coast-to-coast for the big companies. Howard Stark adored her. Hank Pym paid double.

Hope had  _ loathed _ Bobbi, but she was the only woman willing. And it had to be a woman, her father had said. For the papers. She thinks that he simply doesn’t trust other men around his daughter.

“I’ll take first watch,” Bobbi offers, even though there’s nothing to watch out for on this postage stamp, “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

The small pile of salvaged supplies beside them has one blanket, charred on the edges. Bobbi doesn’t so much as offer before unfolding it and spreading it out over Hope. 

“I’ll bleed on it,” Hope says.

“Tough shit,” says Bobbi. They exchange another tentative smile. As horrible as the situation is, it feels like a step in the right direction.

A small  _ crack _ in the trees makes them both freeze. Bobbi ducks onto her knees, curling herself entirely behind the cover of the fallen tree. It won’t do much; the fire is loud and bright and unmistakable evidence of their presence. Hope feels like she’s been doused in ice water. She’s aware of every twitch, every soft rustle of the wind over the sand, the soft beating of the waves against Lil Miss’ cracked hull.

The pistol is in Bobbi’s hand, the one Hope salvaged from the wreck before the heat became too much to bear. It’s got eight bullets in it. She’s fired one like it before, in preparation for the trip, but she’s glad that Bobbi has it now. The broken arm wouldn’t do much for her aim.

Instead, Hope slides down so she’s mostly laying on her back, breathing as soft as she can as she adjusts her broken leg. She bites her lip as the pain spikes through the bone. Bobbi is watching her, waiting. 

Another  _ crack _ . More muffled, further away. 

It could be nothing. The wind, blowing a branch off a dying tree. An animal. Hope’s mouth waters at the prospect of proper food. There wasn’t much time to survey between crashing a plane and dragging her navigator out of the wreck, but she hadn’t seen any signs of settlement. And the island wasn’t on any of the maps.

But whatever it is, they might not be alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, _that_ Amelia. Many thanks to the CapRBB Slack for help with naming things.
> 
> With these prompts I'm trying to challenge myself to just write from what I know, and to resist the urge to obsessively research every last detail. I did breach that a little here on the medical stuff.
> 
> Liked this fill? [Here's the tumblr post](https://vextant.tumblr.com/post/172734635291/stars-inthe-sky-prompted-bobbi-and-hope-because) for easy liking and reblogging, if you're so inclined.
> 
> Want a fill of your very own? Prompt me over on [tumblr!](https://vextant.tumblr.com/ask)


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